


The Push

by impalaloompa



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotions, Idiots in Love, Longing, M/M, Swordfighting, Well Geralt teaches Jaskier to use a sword, eventually, jaskier and geralt are both idiots, my first official geraskier fic woop woop, they kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: Watching Jaskier sleep was the closest thing to peace he had ever felt.He would never admit this to the Bard, but he rather liked having him around. When Jaskier wasn’t there his world was silent and brooding and… lonely. With Jaskier, it was loud and chaotic and annoying, but he was letting himself connect to another being, something he didn’t know he had been missing until he had first met the Bard. He embraced how he felt around Jaskier. Slowly learning all the emotions he had been suppressing for years.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 461





	The Push

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!!

Jaskier paced the cell he had been roughly man handled into, fidgeting his fingers and chewing his lower lip.

He hadn’t slept and was becoming restless, feeling cramped in the small, square space.

Very little light trickled into the three walled cell. Orange from torches bracketed to the walkway leeched in through the bars keeping him trapped, and daylight was starting to glow through the rectangle window cut into the back wall high above his head.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, a couple of hours maybe? But the isolation and the oppressive stone surrounding him were starting to get to him.

He started when a door was opened somewhere up the walkway and the jailer stalked past his cell.

Jaskier immediately went to the bars.

“Hey, um, excuse me?” he chirped, and the jailer halted, not turning to look at him, “Yes, hello. My good fellow, there seems to have been a terrible, terrible misunderstanding and um I really shouldn’t be in here so – “

“You were caught in the bedchamber of the Mayor’s wife,” the jailor growled, still not looking at him.

“Ah, yes, well, I can see why that would be incriminating, and given that it’s me, completely understandable but you see, it’s not at all what it looks like and nothing happened and – “

“Your sentence is being decided this morning,” the jailer gruffed and began to walk away again.

“My – my – my sentence? Wait! Can’t we talk about this? Come back!” but the jailer ignored him and Jaskier pressed his head against the bars, trying not to let despair and fear tighten his chest.

***  
A few more hours had passed and Jaskier was miserably singing to himself as he lay flat on the cold stone floor. He had dosed off a few times but always jerked awake again.

The clanging of the door sounded again and Jaskier scrambled to his feet to press himself against the bars again.

The figure he saw marching towards him with the jailer flooded him with giddy relief.

“Geralt,” he hummed, “thank the Gods. I am unbelievably happy to see you.”

The Witcher rested his amber gaze on the Bard and grunted.

“Now please tell this man to let me go,” Jaskier pointed accusingly at the jailer.

“What’s he done?” Geralt side eyed the jailer.

“Slept with the Mayor’s wife,” the jailor looked grim.

“Wha – no! I didn’t! Geralt, please you have to believe me!” Jaskier begged.

Geralt looked at him, then at the jailer, then at the Bard again. He took a step towards Jaskier and sniffed.

“He didn’t sleep with the Mayor’s wife,” he grumbled.

“Exactly. Thank you,” Jaskier exasperated, “Wait hang on. How did you -?”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him and Jaskier forced himself not to recoil with embarrassment, his face reddening. 

“I can’t just let him go,” the jailor folded his arms, “You’ll need to talk to the mayor.”

“Fine.” Geralt turned and strode away.

“Geralt? Don’t just leave me here! Geralt?!” Jaskier called after him but the Witcher disappeared.

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier kicked the bars in frustration.

***  
The jailer came for him just after noon. Jaskier protested and offered some resistance but he let himself be handcuffed and marched out of his cell.

Well this is it, he thought to himself, goodbye cruel world.

The jailer steered him towards a strong wooden door, opened it, undid his cuffs and pushed him though.

Jaskier landed painfully on his knees, and he cursed the jailer. The door was slammed behind him.

The Bard looked up, narrowing his eyes against the too bright sun, to see Geralt astride his chestnut mare looking at him with what could only be described as a bemused expression.

“Geralt!” Jaskier brightened, jumping to his feet and scurrying towards the Witcher.

“Let’s go,” Geralt twitched Roach’s reins.

“Wait! My things. All my things are still at the Tavern. My lute!” Jaskier realised.

Geralt cleared his throat and inclined his head to the saddle bags across the mare’s back. Jaskier could see his pack and his lute in its travel case, tightly secured. Jaskier let out a breath.

“You couldn’t have gone back to the tavern anyway. The Mayor has banned you from the town,” Geralt narrowed his eyes at him and Jaskier could tell he was enjoying this.

“Yeah, well, their loss,” Jaskier tried to brush it off, “Who wants to play in their dingey tavern anyway. Their ale tasted like puddle water and my music was too good for them.”

Geralt sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“Geralt,” Jaskier jogged to catch up and keep pace with Roach, “Can you always smell when someone has had sex?” 

“Hm,” Geralt kept his stoic gaze on the road out of town. 

“I’d ask what it smells like, but I don’t think I want to know…” Jaskier trailed off, trying not to think of all the times he’d stumbled back to Geralt after a good night to set off again the next day. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt frowned, “Why didn’t you sleep with the Mayor’s wife? When you didn’t appear at breakfast this morning, I assumed you’d gotten yourself into trouble, but…”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier cast his eyes down and shrugged, “Wasn’t feeling it, I guess? Wasn’t in the mood? I am allowed to say no sometimes Geralt. What does it matter anyway? “

Geralt didn’t press. He was sure there was more to it than that, but he let the Bard go off on a tangent about, well he stopped listening after about five minutes, so he didn’t really know what.

They travelled together until the sun started to set and Geralt chose a sheltered spot among a few trees to set up camp.

After a good meal and some nonsensical strumming from the Bard they settled in for the night.

Jaskier fell asleep quickly, wrapped up in blankets, snoring gently. But Geralt was still wide awake. He lay on his back, the fire separating him from Jaskier, and stared up at the stars. 

When Jaskier turned in his sleep, Geralt watched him settle again and tuned his hearing to listen to the Bard’s steady breathing. 

Watching Jaskier sleep was the closest thing to peace he had ever felt. 

He would never admit this to the Bard, but he rather liked having him around. When Jaskier wasn’t there his world was silent and brooding and… lonely. With Jaskier, it was loud and chaotic and annoying, but he was letting himself connect to another being, something he didn’t know he had been missing until he had first met the Bard. He embraced how he felt around Jaskier. Slowly learning all the emotions he had been suppressing for years.

Sometimes it was an emotion he disliked. Fear for example, when the Bard got himself into peril and Geralt had to rescue him. The fear of Jaskier getting hurt, or, the fear of losing him. It was in times like those when he was painfully reminded how mortal Jaskier was, and that was another emotion he didn’t like processing. But then there were times like this, when he felt close to him. When Jaskier was laughing, such a pure sound, and it stirred something deep within him. He felt wanted and respected. When Jaskier honoured the Witcher with another Ballad, singing of how Geralt had saved people and helped them, rather than being a monster to be feared and avoided, he pretended it irritated him, but in all honesty, every lyrical word out of the Bard’s mouth stuck with him. He had Jaskier to thank for his reputation and Geralt wanted to express to him how grateful he was to have him. He just didn’t know how to word it.

He blinked slowly as he watched Jaskier sleep. His heavy eyes finally closing and drifting off into darkness.

***  
“So, how far is it to the next village?” Jaskier asked, rolling up his bed roll and joining Geralt beside Roach as they packed their camp away.

“Not far, but we are not leaving yet.”

“Oh?” confusion tainted Jaskier’s voice, “what are we doing then?”

“Training,” Geralt gruffed.

“Training? Training as in… what? Cardio? Meditation? Endurance? Baking skills? Because, to be honest with you Geralt, I go for none of those things and – “

“Swords,” Geralt removed two short swords from Roach’s saddle and tossed one to Jaskier.

Jaskier fumbled as he tried to catch it by the grip and dropped it.

Geralt’s jaw twitched.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he growled. 

Jaskier picked the sword up quickly, determination set in his expression.

“Why?” he heard himself ask.

“So that I don’t have to rescue you from trouble all the time,” Geralt slowly circled him, assessing his posture.

Jaskier watched him, his unsureness keeping him quiet.

“Don’t grip it so tight. It is an extension of you. Feel its balance,” Geralt grumbled, “Stand with your feet wider apart. Keep your weight grounded.”

Jaskier did as he was told and Geralt walked around him again.

“Better. How does it feel?” he tilted his head slightly.

“Heavy,” Jaskier gazed at him.

“Your arm with strengthen in time,” the Witcher reassured him.

He got Jaskier to practice a few simple stances, each time correcting his posture, impressed with how serious the Bard was taking this. 

Geralt kept his patience when Jaskier quipped at him or wasn’t quite getting it, but over all he found that Jaskier was a quick learner.

Eventually Geralt stood in front of him and taught him how to parry. He brought his sword from the left, Jaskier blocked it. He lifted it up to the right, Jaskier blocked it.

“Good,” Geralt hummed.

“It’s like… creating music,” Jaskier mused poetically, “feeling where the next beat is coming from and catching it as it gets there. It has… rhythm.”

“Hm,” Geralt grunted, “Again.”

The more confident Jaskier became, the faster and harder Geralt pushed him. He added in a surprise move now and then to see what Jaskier would do and the Bard reacted quickly, maybe not in the way a trained swordsman would, but by keeping focused and following his instincts.

Remembering that Jaskier was still new to this, Geralt kept his blows light and his advances contained. There would be time to strengthen Jaskier up, but for now, it was more about getting him used to wielding a sword.

They spent the better part of the morning sparring.

Jaskier was breathing hard and Geralt could tell he was starting to tire. He was about to suggest they stop for the day when one of Jaskier’s swings, more forceful that he had been expecting, caught him off guard and he stumbled.

“Aha! The student surpasses the teacher!” Jaskier teased. 

“Don’t get cocky,” Geralt growled, returning the blow a little harder than before, “That’s how you get killed.”

“At least it’s another skill I can use to impress the ladies. As if being a musical prodigy wasn’t enough, skilled swordsman will make the ladies swoon,” it was an off-hand comment but Geralt couldn’t help but feel Jaskier was holding back something again.

He decided to push him.

“Why didn’t you sleep with the Mayor’s wife, Jaskier?”

“What?” Jaskier’s parry was sloppy in his distraction.

“You heard,” Geralt grumbled.

“And you’re asking me now?”

Geralt could feel Jaskier’s panic as he tried to focus on Geralt’s movement and process what he was saying.

“Did you have a… problem?” Geralt took a step forward with his next attack and Jaskier stumbled back slightly. 

“No!” Jaskier protested indignantly, “I just – didn’t want to.”

“Why Jaskier?” Geralt felt a stab of guilt as he trapped his friend in this conversation, but he shook it quickly, wanting Jaskier to tell him the truth, “It’s what you usually do.”

Jaskier blanched at that remark.

“Because I – I wanted more,” his sword movements were becoming less calculated and his emotions were driving the power behind each swing.

“More?” Geralt pressed, the blades clashing together.

“I looked at her and,” clang, “I realised that,” clang, “I was sick of having just empty sex with,” clang, “Random woman.”

He backed off from Geralt, panting.

“I want more. Something more meaningful,” he swung at Geralt and Geralt parried with ease, “something…” 

He caught the look in Geralt’s eyes.

“Fuck you Geralt,” he seethed through clenched teeth. He unleashed a flurry of blows which Geralt blocked.

The Witcher twisted his blade, knocking the sword from Jaskier’s hand, forcing him to his knees, and tilted his chin up with the tip.

Jaskier was shaking. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, his breathing was ragged, and his fists were clenched. His blue eyes were on fire and there was something dancing in those bright irises, as Geralt held him at sword point looking down at him, something wild and primal and beautiful.

Something stirred deep in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. 

He took a step back, lowering his sword and Jaskier let his head fall forwards before rolling onto his back.

Geralt watched the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest a moment before sitting on the dusty ground beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt hummed.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to him for a moment before looking away again.

“Emotions are… hard. And I’m sorry if I hurt yours,” the Witcher grit his teeth in awkwardness.

“If you…? Hurt my…? Gods Geralt, you didn’t hurt my feelings. I just…fuck,” Jaskier sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

He took a moment to just look at Geralt, that strangeness still burning in his eyes. 

“I want…” he trailed off, casting his eyes down.

Geralt placed a hand on his knee. Jaskier immediately stared at it.

“It was unfair for me to push you like that,” Geralt lowered his head to try catching Jaskier’s gaze.

Blue looked into amber. Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart thundering under his skin.

“You…” Jaskier searched his gaze, “Are an absolute fucking idiot, Geralt of Rivia.”

Before Geralt could respond, Jaskier crashed his mouth against Geralt’s in a desperate, messy kiss.

He pulled back quickly, breathing deeply, waiting for Geralt to say or do something. 

Several emotions sparked through Geralt all at once. None of them making any sense. None of them telling him what he should do. But he knew what he wanted to do, and that realisation hit him as hard as a punch in the gut.

He pulled Jaskier close to him, hands weaving into his dark, messy hair and kissed him again.

The noise Jaskier made ignited something in his chest. The Bard’s hand came up to cup his cheek as he melted into the Witcher’s mouth.

Eventually they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, just breathing in each other’s space.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled.

“No, don’t say anything. Not yet. Just let me have this,” Jaskier pleaded breathlessly. 

His fingers were a warm pressure against Geralt’s skin, and he leaned into the touch, with his own hands coming down to clasp the back of Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier let his head fall into the crook of Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt wrapped his arms around the Bard, his Bard, and just held him.

Eventually Jaskier shifted and Geralt let his arms slip down so Jaskier could sit up, but he let his hands linger by the Bard’s waist, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.

Jaskier looked at him and every trouble that he could possible ever have melted away in that moment. 

Geralt knew now. He finally understood… everything.


End file.
